The Death of Nnanji (12 page)

When she had finished licking her fingers, he said, “Here,” and untied his wrap. “You need this more than I do.”

She looked surprised, but she took the filthy thing and put it on. He had felt uncomfortable in it, and he was quite used to being naked, but a naked boy locked up with a girl would be unusual. Not all the slime could be in on the plot. Suppose they decided to drag him away to another cell? Or take her away?

Of course all he had to do was shout, “Tomisolaan!” and he would be rescued at once. Wouldn’t he? Of course he would! He mustn’t worry about that. But telling himself not to worry just made him worry more.

“This isn’t much of a chat,” he said. “Can you read and write? I can. You could trace out letters to tell me things.”

She took her ears in her fingers and wiggled them:
You’re a spy.

He shrugged. “Yes. I was put here to see if you’d let things slip.” He certainly hoped that this was
really
why he’d been put here, and that he could
really
get out of the horrible place anytime he wanted to quit. “I know you tried to kill Lord Shonsu. Vixi… That’s my friend, apprentice swordsman Vixini, Lord Shonsu’s oldest son. He told me how he found the hook you used to climb up the wall. That was really brave of you! I couldn’t do that.”

She pulled a face and looked away. She didn’t want to talk to him any more. He was a swordsman spy. At least she wasn’t trying to strangle him.

“One of your friends tried to kill Lord Nnanji the same night,” he said.

After a moment she turned back towards him, wanting more.

“She was killed. Lord Boariyi killed her.”

Shrug.
We knew the risks
.

“He’s very badly hurt. He may not live.”

Smile.

“He’s my dad,” Addis said. “I’m Addis, son of Nnanji the swordsman. That’s why I’m here. I wanted to help.” Suddenly there was a lump in his throat and a prickling under his eyelids, and he couldn’t talk any more.

Jja was very skilled at drawing the poison out of her husband’s soul when that was necessary, but even after her expert ministrations, Wallie had slept badly that night. It was not thoughts of more assassins that disturbed him, but the fear that he had been put in Nnanji’s place in order to fight a war. Nnanji was a perfect leader for the World’s swordsmen. They related to him, almost worshiped him. He believed in honor and the sutras and the will of the Goddess, and with those he had built an empire as large as those of Genghis Khan or Suleiman the Magnificent. He had done it with a bare minimum of bloodshed.

But he had never heard of Iwo Jima, Cannae, or Gettysburg. Nnanji was perfectly capable of lining up a thousand swordsman and charging the sorcerers’ guns.

So the war that had so worried Wallie fifteen years ago had now arrived, and the Goddess had put Nnanji out of action. Wallie Smith was no soldier. In truth he was no swordsman, either. His fencing skill had come from the original Shonsu and been given him by a miracle. In the World’s terms, Wallie Smith was much more a renegade sorcerer. He had spent the night wondering just what part he was expected to play. To organize the Tryst to cast bronze guns and extract saltpeter for gunpowder would take years, and he did not have years. He must solve the problem quickly, else the Tryst would either fall apart or depose him and go charging bullheaded against the sorcerers’ fortress at Kra.

All of this made sense, except that, according to Endrasti, Nnanji himself had recognized it, and had intended to turn the war over to Wallie anyway. So why had Nnanji been so horribly put out of the game?

What message was the Goddess sending?

Had Wallie made a fearful error in reading Her instructions about Addis? Wallie was the equivalent of godfather to the boy, yet instead of comforting him in his terror, he had locked him up with a would-be killer who had absolutely nothing to lose. The boy’s eagerness to take the job was no excuse. Yet Addis could still pass for a girl. He was certainly stronger than the prisoner, and knew just enough about street fighting now to defend himself if she turned vicious. He was supremely motivated, had no facemark yet, and was literate. No one else could possibly have all those qualifications just when they were needed. In the World of the Goddess, coincidences were usually instructions.

He went down to breakfast without waiting for Jja. He was surprised to find Sharon there already, eating a disgustingly juicy mango-type fruit, dribbling down her chin. Sharon was his eldest, if one did not count Vixini, and due to be sworn to a craft very soon. She wanted to be either a midwife or a dancer. Wallie thought midwifery was too stressful and doubted that she had the agility required for dancing, but Jja was arranging for her to be assessed. She was named after Wallie Smith’s mother, but “Sharon” was a respectable local name also.

Even more surprising was Vixini on the other side of the table, gnawing on a drumstick. Although the red rims around his eyes suggested that he had not yet caught up on his lost sleep, he was alert enough to notice the sapphire on the sword hilt beside his father’s ponytail. He frowned and bit his lip. As soon as informal greetings were finished, he said, “How is Uncle Nnanji?”

“He’s recuperating from a wound. Heralds will be announcing this regularly all day in the lodge.”

Vixini said, “Mm?” thoughtfully. “Um, mentor?”

Wallie knew what was coming next. “Yes, protégé?”

“You have always instructed me that a man isn’t ready for third rank until he’s been a swordsman for at least five years.”

“That’s true as a general rule. A Third exercises the authority of our craft, and kids can’t usually manage that. But there isn’t a Third in the Tryst who’d have much of a chance against you with foils; you’d even beat some Fourths. I don’t want to be accused of creating a sleeper.”

Vixini could not hide a glow at such tribute. “Yes, but the sutras…”

“I have given strict orders that you are not to be favored in the sutra tests in any way. I told Filurz to pick out examiners who will not pander to me as liege lord.”

Gnaw, chew, swallow… “Don’t see this. You want me to fail the sutra test?”

“Certainly not. I very much want you to pass. I will be ashamed and deeply disappointed in you if you fail the sutra test. I am sure Adept Filurz understood. There are plenty of lickspittle swordsmen in the Tryst who would try you with a couple of real easy ones and then declare you qualified. Filurz will do what he’s told, choose men who have a grudge against me and will deliberately try to fail you, to get back at me. How many of the sutras are really difficult? I mean long, dull, and non-associative brutes?”

Vixi shrugged broad shoulders. “Six… maybe eight, I suppose.”

“Right. Sharon, when are you meeting with the dancers?”

“One on Bronze Casters’ Day and two on Sailors’ Day. Can you come with us? I mean…” She put on her wounded-fawn expression.

“You mean you want me there to overawe them. No, I’m afraid I’ve got too many serious problems to deal with while your Uncle Nnanji is sick.”

She pouted, but a very broad smile had taken over a certain young swordsman’s face. He muttered, “Thanks, Big Bear,” and reached for another drumstick.

Recalling his stepson’s still-unripened ambition, Wallie decided that two solid days of memorizing sutras might require more motivation in his case. “And besides, there’s going to be a war.”

“Huh?”

“I’m going to be leading the Tryst to war and I can’t take you with me while you’re still just a Second.”

Vixini’s howl of joy sent the pigeons thundering upward.

Chapter 4

“Lord Nnanji is running a high fever. His condition is grave, but he is a strong man and very fit. We can only pray and wait. Lord Boariyi, as a former liege, you are the senior member of the council. Should both Nnanji and I ever be out of action at the same time, then you will wear the sapphire sword.”

Five swordsmen of the seventh rank and one of third rank sat around the end of the long table in the council hall; no Endrasti now. For once Wallie had ordered pens, ink, and paper supplied, but so far no one had shown any interest in them.

Now to business. He glanced around the faces: hard, determined faces, giving nothing away.

“We have clear evidence of an external attack upon the Tryst at Cross Zek and in the murder of two heralds. We have clear evidence of internal rebellious conspiracy in that three courier squads have vanished, presumably eaten by the fish, and there have been two assassination attempts. We…” He paused at a distant chime.

“Your sorcerer hasn’t come,” said Zoariyi. “Are you surprised?”

“I’d have been very surprised if he’d been on time. Let’s start with you, Lord Boariyi. What action do you propose we should take?”

“Heralds are sacred. Send the strongest force we can muster against Plo, Kra, and Nolar. Hang the rulers. Fine the cities heavily.”

Would anyone expect subtlety from a man of his height, or compassion from a swordsman?

“Lord Zoariyi?”

“Raid the sorcerers’ tower here in Casr, and then Vul if necessary.”

Better, because possible, but what would happen after that?

“Lord Dorinkulu?”

The old warhorse smiled. “You are asking what I would order, were I in your place. Well, I’d want more information, much more. I’m sure Master Endrasti is very able, but I’d question more of Rust… um, Lord Nnanji’s, men. We know Kra’s involved, because of the weapons used at Cross Zek. We suspect Plo and Nolar are, because of the heralds. That’s less certain, because those two murders could be the work of assassins. The rulers may not have been involved.” He turned and pointed his cane at the map. “Your drawing over there… The River flows from Plo to Rea and the Ulk Sector. How does it get to Plo? Lord Nnanji was arriving by the back door. Can we attack downstream, by the front door? Also, I’d certainly want to question that assassin you caught, my lord, tongue or no tongue.”

Better still, but the Tryst wanted action
now
. So, probably, did the Goddess.

“Thank you. Lord Joraskinta?”

The youngest Seventh leaned forward, laying brawny forearms on the table. His heavy brows gave him an intense, aggressive stare, which must terrify his juniors. “Like Lord Dorinkulu, I want more information. I want to know what Lord Nnanji’s orders were as he withdrew downstream to Rea. He shared out most of his company between the local garrisons. That’s good. But I’d want to start farther downstream, and roll men forward, not back. To muster thousands of swordsmen here in Casr and then transport them all to the trouble zone would be… unnecessary.” He meant ridiculous, but he was smart enough not to say so before the liege had announced his own decision. “But we could set a snowball going, starting about fifty days’ sailing downstream from Plo. Order every garrison to send one quarter of its men forward. We’d have two thousand men long before the wave reached Nolar.”

That was good thinking. “Keep talking,” Wallie said.

Joraskinta gave him a questing look, as if wondering whether he was being praised or allowed to walk into quicksand. “Like Lord Dorinkulu, I’d certainly inquire where the other route to Plo is. I want to know where on their journeys these couriers disappeared. And I’d warn all our other forces in the field to slow down, perhaps have them join the Plo army, if they are close enough.”

“Thank you, all of you,” Wallie said. “Lord Treasurer, do you wish to comment at this time?”

Katanji smiled tolerantly at this childish talk of violence. “Finance should be no problem. The Tryst is already employing all its swordsmen, so the only extra cost will be board and transportation. Profits may be quite high, depending on how much damage you cause and what proportion of the population you auction off in the slave markets. Furthermore…” He rose and strolled over to the maps chalked on the slate walls. “Here is Plo, famous for its beautiful women.”

“Quite,” Wallie said. Jja came from Plo. What was the foxy Katanji up to this time? If Nnanji was as clear as a ray of sunlight, his brother was a fogbank.

“Now, over here,” Katanji said, walking several paces westward, “you find the prosperous and salubrious city of Soo, best known for exporting rubies of very high quality.” He wandered back to the table. “But the rubies from Soo are known in the jewel trade as Plo rubies.”

Trust Katanji to upstage the entire council. The unmarked stretch of wall between Soo and Plo probably meant that the area had not been explored by the Tryst yet, but might mean that it did not exist on the ground.

“You think that Soo and Plo are actually close together?”

“I don’t think they’re on the same stretch of River,” Katanji said patiently, “because that would let Plo market its own rubies. Besides, the Soo Reach is well known to us. Plo is almost a backwater. But gems are easily carried, and overland trails are often overlooked or even kept secret. You may not need the front door, my lords. It may be faster to go in by the trading hatch.”

Fortunately Wallie was relieved of the immediate need to comment as the doors at the far end swung open. “I will rise,” he said. “The rest of you remain seated.”

Sorcerers were parading in, six of them. The dumpy blue-robed one in front was Woggan himself. Behind him came two Sixths in Green and three Fifths in Red. All of them had their hoods up and their hands hidden in their sleeves, so almost nothing of the men themselves was visible as they paced solemnly along the hall. Sorcerers were showmen; their gowns were bulky garments with many pockets filled with tricks they used to impress the gullible—lenses, acid, phosphorus, and many others. But if each of these men held two smoothbore pistols, the swordsmen’s council could be shot to pieces. Wallie had foreseen the threat, and fifty swordsmen trooped in behind the delegation, taking up position on either side of the doorway.

The first sorcerer Seventh he had known had been old Rotanxi, and they had developed a grudging respect for each other. Since then he had worked with three successive wizards of Casr, each one worse than his predecessor. He especially disliked Woggan, who seemed more devious and obstructive than any.